The Sparrow

I cry like a wounded sparrow
That spent his tears in spring
Wandering for recompense
Lost in suffering-
That had a taste like iron
Rusty on my tongue
Washed away by the feeble tears
That trickle from the young
Burgundy and brimming-
Boiling within
The sun is a cruel warrior
That magnifies all things
I crave to bed with darkness
To shy from breathless words
To spread my wings, and sing my songs
Like the other birds
I cry like a wounded sparrow
Mimicking the spring
Trying to wash away
My deathless suffering.